


The Hassle of Contracts

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Bilbo is So Done, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, First Impressions, M/M, Mixed-Up Middle Earth Geography, Poor Bilbo, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which the Shire and Erebor are neighbors, a king asks to be arranged to his consort, and first impressions are not always the best.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been decided on his 25th birthday.

He would be arranged to a dwarf king of Erebor when he was of proper age. The Shire was Erebor’s closest neighbor though the closed off ways of both races had ensured very little trade or anything beyond a cordial friendship. Kings of old had attempted to forge stronger bonds but they had never been able to come to an arrangement that both realms had found agreeable. The Shire could provide bountiful surpluses of food and plants while Erebor could not find anything to provide that the hobbits would be willing to accept. They had no need for precious gems or metals and had gotten on without dwarven blacksmiths or carpenters for Ages. They did not need Erebor as much as the mountain needed them.

It was not until the Fell Winter had struck and taken the lives of many hobbits that there was a quest to find allies against orcs and wolves and any other manner of creature that might be looking for blood. The dwarves had sent aid when it had been too late already and the inhabitants of the Shire thought that perhaps strengthening their friendship would ensure an ally when it was most needed.

Gerontius Took, the Thain of the Shire, had met with the king of the dwarves and though every hobbit dearly wished to know what was spoken of, only one family - in the beginning - would go on to find out.

The dwarf king had readily agreed to his army sharing in the perils of the Shire if the hobbits would share in their harvests biannually and provide him with a Consort. The king had explained that while he had looked most of his life for a dwarf to stand by his side, he had not found one, and thought that he might find someone to share the rest of his life with in a hobbit. He was not concerned with what his council had to say on the matter of it being a hobbit - he rather wished they would stop presenting him with dwarrowdams around every corner. He wished to stop the naysayers by entering into a marriage with one that would not be overly political (just slightly, a certain hobbit would later say in his most disdainful tone) and that would not further tempt his council into pressing for heirs.

Apparently the king had two heirs already in his nephews and they were both nearing their majority, having been taught their entire lives on how to be princes and the eldest prepared for his own rule. The dwarf king wished not for children and - as would later be brought up - hoped he might find a male companion either way.

Gerontius had informed the king that he had just such a hobbit in mind, though he had not reached his own majority yet. The Thain would explain how truly uncomfortable the king had seemed at the idea of being with one so young and the two had struck a deal that his Consort-to-be would not be his until he reached his 40th birthday. To give him time to mature, time to find himself, time to prepare for a marriage to a king.

That was where Bilbo Baggins came in.

At 25, he had been utterly displeased and hysteric at the idea of being married off as if he were good for nothing else. He had staunchly refused and went so far as to curse his parents and grandfather - the Thain - for even entertaining such an idea. Hobbits did not have high or low borns, they were not royal, they were simple folk who enjoyed gardening and lazing about in the sun. They were not made for marrying dwarves - though he would not be the first to have done it - or standing alongside kings.

He had always entertained being a writer, not a courtier. He was simply not up for such work and had heartily refused to listen when it was explained to him that he did not have to partake in politics, only that he had to be a companion to a king. He laughed when he was told the king simply wanted a partner for appearances’ sake and declared him an utter fool for not choosing one of his own kind, ignoring any explanations from his family as to why he did not do so.

When he came of age at 33, he had quite the rebellious streak going on, much to the dismay of his parents. He flitted in and out of short flings with other hobbits (utterly unrespectable) or sheltered himself away from everyone for months at a time. He could not find peace or happiness knowing that his life was doomed for one end and contracts had already been signed before he was able to have any say in it.

His parents assured him it would not be as terrible as he was thinking, as Grandfather had said the dwarf seemed a good enough fellow, but Bilbo chose not to believe them. And what would it matter even if he was a good enough fellow? They might not get along at all and it wasn’t like the king came down to the Shire to visit his intended in the years that they were promised to each other. He stayed holed up in his mountain while Bilbo refused to entertain the idea of going himself. For many years he took on the policy that, if they did not speak to one another, their arrangement did not exist.

Everything changed when he turned 35 and his father passed away from a sudden and unexpected illness. It had been devastating to the entirety of the Shire, losing such a respectable gentle-hobbit as Bungo Baggins. His wife and son were utterly distraught and life could not dare hope to be the same in the following years.

Then a harsh winter had claimed Belladonna Baggins when Bilbo was a scant 37 years and he was left alone. Some part of him hoped that that would be the end of any contract his parents had signed when he was 25 - that he would not have to go off and marry the king. That he could be left to himself, to grieve, to find happiness elsewhere, to have something just for himself. To not always be destined for a fate that he had no part in naming.

A day had come when Bilbo had realized how empty he felt. How alone he truly was - that he had nothing left. His extended family he loved but they were not his parents and could not offer him any completion in the long run. They would always be there for him but he craved something more than them.  
  
And that was when he had realized it.

He could find something more, no matter what sort of outcome it might have, in a dwarf king.

He was obliged to the contract by the signature of the Thain but perhaps that piece of parchment would be what breathed life into him again. Perhaps he could find something to complete him away from the home he always knew, away from the place he was beginning to associate with heartbreak. The Shire would always be just a two hour ride from the mountain if - and when - he needed it. His home would always remain there but… perhaps there was another home for him, in Erebor. Perhaps there were friends he had yet to meet, a family he had yet to become a part of.

So Bilbo Baggins stuck his nose in the air and swore that he would keep an open mind. He would see to his end of things (though he planned on getting the king to sign another contract) and he would do it proudly. Because of him, the Shire had an entire mountain of battle-ready dwarves to protect them should they need it. With their biannual harvest, the dwarves had also started to come down to trade, as was the natural order of things. It was all because of him - rather, it was because of his grandfather and parents, but he was the one that would carry a crown, so he felt responsible for it.

Bilbo would see his duty done.

Of course when it came to his 40th birthday, it hardly meant he was ready to do it. Instead he felt much like a gangly, awkward tween of 25 all over again, rather than the respectable gentle-hobbit he had come to be. He prided himself on his ability to keep a clear head and see sense (at least the last few years of his life anyway) and to be so entirely out of shapes had him discomfited.

He would go to Erebor and he would meet his intended. Grandfather was to be at his side, naturally, and would judge how well Bilbo ‘performed’ his duties. And, of course, protect his grandson, as was his own duty. They would sup with the king and start their admittedly short courtship.

The king had declared he wished nothing for a traditional courtship in a letter to Grandfather just last year and would hold Bilbo to no dwarven traditions. It was normally a year long affair with gifts of one’s own crafting and formal dinners between families. Instead, the king suggested that the wedding be planned once he met his intended, and they would marry once all preparations were done. It gave them a bit of time to get used to each other - however short - and would get rid of some awkwardness.

The king also saw fit to mention that due to there being no way or need to produce heirs, Bilbo would not be expected to consummate the marriage on the wedding night. When Grandfather had let Bilbo read that particular letter, he had turned tomato red and wished to be buried ten feet under the ground, to never see the light of day again. He had already expected to put his foot down for any such consummation nonsense, of course, as he was not to be a plaything, but to see it laid out in such a lovely scrawl had him utterly mortified.

He briefly entertained the idea that the king himself might have been mortified writing it, but he did not truly know the dwarf’s manner.

Honestly, he knew nothing at all of his intended except possibly ‘a good enough fellow’, he was not old and wrinkly as his 25 year old self had lamented, and that he was known for his battle prowess.

Oakenshield, yes, that was what they called him. Bilbo had puffed out haughty laughs at the epithet, declaring that a warrior was hardly his type, and the entire thing was a farce. Nowadays, he knew that the dwarf was at least capable of defending himself and he hoped that it was not in his nature to be severe, as some warriors were wont to do.

But beyond that, he really knew nothing of King Thorin ‘Oakenshield’ II.

And now that he was older and had accepted his position finally, he knew that it was mostly his fault he didn’t. He could have met with the dwarf long ago to see how well they got on or- or at least sought out rumors of the fellow! Now, despite his few years of true preparation, he hardly was any the wiser when it came to the king. He had made his bed and he would have to lie in it.

Figuratively speaking - he hoped he would have his own bed when he arrived in Erebor to do with as he wished, thank you very much.

And so the day had come for Bilbo to venture to the mountain, meet his intended, and see once and for all what his parents had signed him up for.

“Bilbo,” Gerontius groaned, not for the first time, “I wish you would stop squirming. You’re making Myrtle unsettled.” The Old Took side-eyed the pony his grandson was riding, who hadn’t been entirely surefooted after he had mounted her.

Bilbo flushed, sitting up more straight, resting his hands on the horn of the saddle. He could hardly keep them still and had been picking at a loose thread on the leather reins, much to the chagrin of his pony. He cleared his throat, sending an apologetic glance to his grandfather.

“Sorry,” he sighed out, looking up the path and toward the great bridge they would soon be crossing to get to Erebor’s gates. “I feel like a faunt. Though I think it’s perfectly natural for me to feel nervous about this utter nonsense that I’ve decided to partake in.”

Grandfather snorted. “This utter nonsense has us both nervous, you know,” he declared, though that was somewhat to Bilbo’s dismay. “I haven’t been to Erebor in years! Though I’ve kept up correspondence with the king, it’ll be strange being in his mountain again. Not a bad strange, mind you, I’ve been looking to get you out of my continually-disappearing hair ever since you put a cow pie on my front doorstep.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to groan. “I do wish you would stop reminding me of that so often,” he complained, sighing as his grandfather chortled. “At least you find humor in it now. I honestly thought it would inspire a switch to be taken out of the nearest tree.”

“A switch hasn’t been used in two hundred years, my boy!” Grandfather all but cackled. “Though I did land you a good one with my walking stick, didn’t I? I understood, though, Bilbo, of course I did. I expected this to be hard on you, aye, but you did still end up going a step or two beyond what I was expecting. Drove your father into greys early, it did!” He chuckled again, as if he were pleased by the thought.

Bilbo discreetly rolled his eyes. “Yes, well,” he said primly, sniffing. “That’s what happens when you marry off your only son to an ancient dwarf living in a cold mountain.” He eyed Erebor before him as they finally stepped onto the bridge, the ponies shoes clicking now against the stone. Many dwarves and men, who hailed from Dale to the West, were making their way in and out of the mountain.

“Dwarven plumbing is to be admired,” Gerontius said, in his typical lecturing fashion. “Did you know there are great pressure valves that send water heated by the forges all throughout the mountain to warm it up?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Bilbo swiftly answered before his grandfather could go off on a tangent. “You’ve told me that a few times. And I’ve read it in all the books you’ve made me study on dwarven engineering.” He sighed - any other books hardly existed, as dwarves were ridiculously stubborn and secretive creatures that didn’t let their ways get recorded.

If he had been able to get his hands on a book about dwarven customs, he might have felt a bit more prepared for today.

As they fell into a companionable silence, Bilbo began to fidget with his pony’s reins again, inspiring her to toss her head in annoyance. He shushed her apologetically and looked up at the great green limestone gates ahead. They were open, two massive carved stone sentinels on either side holding their giant axes, and sunlight was filtering into the mountain. Bilbo had been a few times when he was much younger and lamented again that he could have seen it if he had just accepted all of this earlier.

Bilbo’s eyes caught on a gleam of armor and he noticed four armed guards walking alongside each other heading their way. He and his grandfather clicked at their ponies to stop them and squared their shoulders proudly as the dwarves approached. They were wearing red and gold armor and Bilbo knew they must belong to the Royal Guard.

“Master Took, Master Baggins,” another voice said, and the hobbits raised their eyes to a dwarf that was hurrying along behind the guards. He was completely white-haired and bearded, wearing flowing blue robes, and sketched a small bow when he came to a stop in front of the ponies. “I am Balin, Royal Advisor to the king. We are most happy to welcome you into Erebor. Please, leave your ponies to the care of these guards, they will be well tended to, and follow me.” He smiled pacifically, though there was some strain to his kind eyes that Bilbo didn’t miss.

They dutifully clambered down from their ponies and Bilbo gave Myrtle a pat on her hindquarters as a guard took her reins and began to lead her away. He sighed, looking at Balin, who was his own height. When the advisor’s eyes fell on him, he tried for a smile, and was somewhat worried at the knowing look Balin shot back.

Perhaps he appeared just as terrified as he felt.

Balin motioned with his hand as he turned around and set off at a brisk pace that had Bilbo hurrying to follow. He was a little worried about Grandfather and his walking stick, but the hobbit kept up stride without even using it, adding credence to the rumor that he only used it to get his way more often through sympathy. Bilbo swallowed down his amusement at the idea and simply tried to keep pace with Balin, wondering what the rush was - they weren’t late.

“The king has been meeting with his council for the majority of the day,” Balin informed them, sounding oddly apologetic. “And he has a certain… matter, that he is attending to at present, though he strives to not be late to your dinner. We do have a bit of time for a tour of the royal wing, however, so that you might begin to know your way around, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo swallowed again, though this time it was in an attempt to wet his dry throat. “O-Oh, well, that sounds nice,” he said, wincing at how dry it came out. Balin shot him another look over his shoulder but his eyes were rather mischievous - also worrying. “How- how long have you been His Majesty’s Royal Advisor, if- if I may ask?”

Balin chuckled, slowing his pace somewhat. “Oh, I have served the line of Durin since before Thorin’s time. I apprenticed under my father when he was advisor to Thror, Thorin’s grandfather, and I stood alongside Thrain through his rule,” he answered genially enough. “My brother has also served under King Thrain. He is Captain of the Royal Guard and Thorin’s foremost guard. You will likely be seeing much of him when you are with the king.”

If Bilbo felt somewhat faint, surely none could blame him. He cleared his throat. “Right, well. That’s interesting,” he said, because it truly was, though it seemed his words were to fail him that day. He spied Grandfather sending him an unimpressed gaze and sighed to himself.

“Indeed,” Balin said, sounding rather amused. “I am given to understand that it is actually your birthday, Master Baggins? I am sure you did not expect to spend it dining with a king.”

“On the contrary, I did expect it. My grandfather wished to plan this the day I turned 40, exactly 15 years after the contract was signed, and wouldn’t hear of any other date,” Bilbo said, a touch tartly. “I’d likely be spending it surrounded by more food than I can eat and a party of one hundred, so this will be a bit of a quiet year for me.”

Balin chuckled. “Indeed it will! The princes wished to be present and I can assure you that they would try and make up for the one hundred missing, but the king persuaded them to wait. We would not want to overwhelm you on your first day in Erebor!” he said cheerfully. At Bilbo’s confusion, he smiled, “The princes are quite eager to meet their new uncle.”

Honestly, the fact that Bilbo didn’t faint should have earned him an award. Uncle! To hear it laid out so plainly, as if this was all planned- well, as if it was all _happily_ planned, was disconcerting. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that marrying the king would make him an uncle to his nephews - he knew he would join the royal family, but - and he was truly annoyed with himself here - he hadn’t thought of what that actually meant.

“I think Bilbo is quite eager to meet them, too,” Gerontius spoke up in the face of Bilbo’s stunned silence. He eyed his grandson with a bit of worry before looking ahead so as to not lose Balin in the growing crowd.

A quick look around showed that the other two guards that had greeted them were following close behind, but Bilbo was suddenly taken by Erebor. They had moved into the Gallery Hall, which was truly magnificent and larger than Hobbiton could ever hope to be by far. The stone below their feet was polished to a lovely sheen, though he hadn’t any idea what type it was.

The Gallery Hall housed the infamous Ereborean Market, which Bilbo had been to as a child. It was hundreds of carts and stalls with all manner of wares. The noise was like the winds of a hurricane, dwarves and men bartering over their goods, many conversing lively with others they were meeting. It was a sea of color that was moving like a fine-tuned machine and Bilbo very nearly lost himself, only just catching Balin make a sharp turn for a grand staircase that led further up the mountain.

Lanterns were lit everywhere but the main source of light were massive mirrors that reflected sunlight throughout the mountain. It was quite ingenious and Bilbo found his mouth hanging agape as he followed the advisor and his grandfather along. The stairs themselves led to another level of the mountain, though from there they broke off into numerous other stairways and bridges and precarious looking balconies. Dwarves were all about, moving to and fro, going about their lives, seemingly unaware of Bilbo - not one spared more than a quick glance at him.

He knew that hobbits ventured to Erebor often enough, so they were not likely too uncommon of a sight, though he did wonder how many of the mountain’s inhabitants knew the king was to be married to one. Surely not as many as hobbits knew that Bilbo was going to be married to the dwarf king.

The hustle and bustle proved to be too much for them to have anything near a conversation as they made their way upwards through the conical mountain. It was marvelous - the different stones throughout the mountain gleamed and shone, some sparkling with gemstones that were never hewn, and the many pillars were decorated with dwarven runes or massive tapestries that depicted events in dwarven history. Shops lined many of the walls, their names mostly in Khuzdul runes that Bilbo could not read, but understood what they were by the wares displayed in glass.

Erebor was far more… colorful than he had ever expected and he tried not to show how very taken with it he actually was. Couldn’t give anyone that satisfaction, could he? Instead, he only tried to follow Balin, who was leading them up stairs and down hallways that steadily grew less crowded and more quiet as they went.

Stone walkways with lanterns eventually turned into guarded, grand hallways with blue rugs and golden braziers set in marble stone. Dwarven statues of what looked like kings were dotted here and there and Balin confirmed Bilbo’s suspicions by informing them they were now in the Royal Halls. They were lead to a set of double doors that were at least twenty feet high, and ushered into the main foyer that housed great tables and armchairs and sofas. The roaring fireplace just ahead was much taller than Bilbo but served to warm the entire room and light the many paintings and tapestries that hung from the walls.

Branching off both right and left were hallways that Balin explained would lead to private quarters for the royal family and guests, as well as the king’s personal library and study. Everything was gold and royal blue and far too much for Bilbo to handle - truly, too much.

It spoke of wealth and excellence that was far above his lot in life and he began to feel rather sick. His stomach wouldn’t be able to hold any supper, more than likely, and he looked around as Balin chattered on about this and that, hardly hearing him. He was expected to _live_ there.

He was expected to stand by a king’s side there, to call these excessive rooms his home, to try and find some semblance of peace and happiness. But how could he when it made him feel so very ill?

“Bilbo?” Grandfather’s voice broke in and he startled, looking at the elderly hobbit. Both he and Balin were staring with concern and he tried to find a smile.

“I beg your pardon, I’m afraid I got, ah, a bit caught up in the… decor. What were you saying?” he asked politely.

Balin and Grandfather exchanged a slight look before the advisor cleared his throat. “We have just been informed that the king will be delayed,” he said, and Bilbo took notice of a guard hurrying back to the doors, dismayed that he hadn’t even noticed that they were approached by anyone. “I was suggesting perhaps a tour of the library and throne room while we wait? The king should be another two hours and that will give us something better to do than twiddle our thumbs.”

Bilbo smiled more genuinely at that, even if he still felt incredible uneasy. “That- that would be lovely, I think,” he returned, nodding. “I’ve heard wonderful things about Erebor’s library and as I’m quite fond of reading, I would love to see it.”

“Wonderful,” Balin said, pointing back the way they came. “Off we are then. Do try and keep up, Master Baggins, or I fear we will lose you.”

Bilbo blushed a little, though he knew he was being teased - he expected to lose himself at any moment, whether it was his courage or the contents of his stomach, he wasn’t sure. But he hastened along nevertheless and even managed to keep up with some mild conversation here and there with Balin and Gerontius on the way.

First they visited the library after a decent twenty minute walk and Bilbo was sure he had never been so in love with anything in his life. The entirety of the library was so very large that he could not see the other end of it. Shelves that required ladders to peruse them lined the room and the walls that Bilbo could see. Books and tomes were in such numbers that he knew he could never hope to read them all in his time. There had to have been thousands and if he could picture himself anywhere in the mountain, it would only be this place. This wondrous place.

Balin and Grandfather both chuckled at his awe and the advisor led them along through the room, pointing at sections on culture and language, fiction and romance. Most, he said, were written in Khuzdul, but they had a great many in Westron, as well, and if Bilbo ever wanted a copy to be made for him, it could be. He brushed that off, as it seemed silly with the endless options he had, before he remembered that his station would allow him to request anything.

He felt nauseous again at the very thought.

After spending a good long while in the library, Balin led them back out and they followed him through the mountain again, descending another sprawling staircase, though Bilbo knew he could never find his way back to where they had first entered Erebor. It was not long before they were led to double doors made of white marble and the guard there allowed them to pass into the empty throne room. The king was elsewhere and citizens were not able to venture here without express permission.

It was a massive, cavernous sort of room that Bilbo immediately disliked for its ridiculous bridge that led all the way to the throne. It was a great hulking thing and looked terribly uncomfortable, which he voiced, much to Balin’s amusement. He explained that the king thought much the same and typically stayed rooted in his council chambers for any business that had to be done - only the most formal affairs took place in the actual throne room.

Balin led them back out and into the busy mountain. They had not gotten far when he was stopped by a group of noble dwarves, who spoke to him in quick and hushed Khuzdul. The advisor sent them an apologetic glance and Bilbo and his grandfather politely gave them room to discuss whatever business they had to.

“Well, what do you think, my boy?” Gerontius asked good-naturedly.

“You don’t want to know what I think,” Bilbo answered before he could stop himself, though he meant it. Grandfather frowned disapprovingly at him and he looked away, shaking his head. “It’s- it’s too much. I already feel lost. It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever known, how can I not? And all of the wasted wealth here! It makes me feel ill.” He kept his voice low so as to not catch the attention of passersby.

Grandfather sighed, lifting his hand and grasping Bilbo’s shoulder. “These dwarves like their opulence, aye, but you’ve also known that-”

“But I’ve never seen it,” Bilbo hissed in interruption. “I’ve never actually seen it. How- how am I supposed to find any peace here? How am I supposed to be happy in a place so big and with all these dwarves? How can I marry a king and be expected to _look_ happy about it?”

“Bilbo,” Grandfather said, weary, giving his shoulder a shake. “You’re overwhelmed, lad. It won’t always feel like this. I know it doesn’t seem much like it, but you’ll get used to this in time. You have to give it just that, though, my boy. Come, we’ve not even had our supper with the king yet!”

Bilbo glared off at some random corner, trying not to aim his gaze at any dwarves lest he offend them. He hardly wanted to have supper with the king anymore. No indeed, he wished to be back home, in Bag End, with his armchair and a book of his own, and a nice cup of tea and plateful of scones. There he had peace! There he had happiness! Not here in some oppressive mountain where wealth enough in one room could be found to fill the Shire’s coffers for hundreds of years. How could he sit at the top of it all and not hate himself for it?

“Ach, lad,” Grandfather bemoaned, patting his shoulder. “We’ll be home before luncheon tomorrow and you’ll feel better about all of this by then, I’m sure. Come along, it looks like Balin’s finished up with his dwarves.” He gently ushered Bilbo along.

The hobbit followed him at a sedate pace to where Balin had taken to waiting kindly for them to finish their conversation. He was just far enough that Bilbo wasn’t worried he had overheard and the advisor’s face only appeared friendly as he promised to escort them back to the Royal Halls. Bilbo sighed as he followed, wishing he was being led back to his pony so he could go home - how could he have ever thought it might be any other place but the Shire?

As they walked down the wide hall filled to the brim with dwarves, they passed another set of double doors, obsidian and imposing looking things. One was half opened and as he passed it, he heard a shout from inside, stopping him in his tracks. His heart leapt into his throat as he watched the two guards that had been standing in front of the door turn and hurry inside. He meant to walk on, but another shout had him faltering and staring - they sounded pained. What if someone needed help?

Bilbo hardly had half a mind as to what he was doing as he hurried forward and slipped inside the room. He nearly gasped and had to pause in his footsteps as he gazed around.  
  
It was empty, but for the two guards hurrying off to a door to the left, though it was a massive amphitheater, the benches and seats following along the walls able to seat near 50 dwarves. The center of the room had been filled with a huge mahogany table and many chairs, and it was littered with scrolls and stacks of parchment and inkwells.

If he had had his wits about him, he might have realized where he was, but the sound of a harsh smack caught his attention and he turned toward the door the guards had gone into, straining his ears. There was another sound and he knew what it was suddenly - someone was being _beaten._ There was a sharp cry and Bilbo hurried forward, his blood thrumming in fear of what he might see, though he hoped that the guards were coming to that person’s aid.

He stepped up to the open doorway and looked inside, widening his eyes as he saw a group of dwarves ahead. The guards were not helping the poor soul that looked half-beaten already, but rather standing unsure a few paces inside. There were two more guards ahead of them, standing behind the dwarf that was on the ground and holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender to the dwarf that seemed to be on the other end of the beating.

He was tall and black-haired, but Bilbo could not make out anymore of his features as he was mostly turned away. His hands at his sides were clenched and Bilbo could see his knuckles were bloodied.

“I was jus’ tryin’ to feed me wee ones!” the dwarf pleaded, his nose sluggishly bleeding and his eye turning a horrid purple. “Please, have mercy!”

“Stealing is not the least of your crimes,” the dark-haired dwarf spat out, his voice deep and rough with anger. “Though tell me, thief, why you think you should remain in Erebor?”

“Please, please,” the dwarf cried, pressing his hands together. “T’was only a loaf of bread and a few coppers. I’ve got me wee ones to feed, I can’t be leavin’ them behind here by themselves!”

Bilbo felt his heart go out to the dwarf - he looked haggard, as if he had not been eating well, and his clothes had seen finer days. He was poor and had resorted to stealing bread - were things so terrible in Erebor that there were starving people when the halls above were inlaid with gold?

“Do not use your _children_ to try and persuade me,” the other dwarf snarled, raising his fist to once again hit the poor fellow.

Bilbo’s gasp left him entirely unbidden and just as his stomach turned, he watched all the dwarves whirl around to face him. The one with his hand held in the air had sharp features that immediately twisted into livid fury when he spied the hobbit.

“Who are you? What you are you doing here?” he barked, stepping toward him as the guards shuffled on their feet. “Get out of here, Halfling! Go, before you are thrown out!”

Bilbo didn’t need to be told twice - he didn’t even wish to explain himself. He turned and fled from both rooms, bursting into the busy hall, a rush of fear taking him as he looked for Grandfather and Balin. He had just listened to that dwarf beat someone because they stole bread and a few coins! Like an uncivilized monster! Surely with such riches in the Mountain, there should not have been a single dwarf starving.

He turned left and began to run for the same staircase they had come down, hoping that he would find his companions. He tried not to cry with relief when he saw them near the top of the stairs, craning their necks and looking around worriedly for him.

Grandfather spied him and looked relieved first, then annoyed second, scowling as Bilbo reached them. “There you are, lad! Where did you get off to? You can’t wander off without an escort-”

“I would like to leave, please,” he panted out, arching his eyebrows at his grandfather. “Leave the mountain, that is. I think that perhaps we have made a mistake-”

“A mistake?” Balin asked, clasping his hands over his belly and looking at Bilbo. “Why would you think that, laddie?”

“Because…! Because, well. That is,” Bilbo tried, not sure that he liked the idea of informing the Royal Advisor what he had seen, “er. I’m just- I’m just not sure that this is right for me. I’m just a hobbit, you see. I’m nothing special and this all seems far above me.”

“Bilbo,” Grandfather warned lowly.

“A spot of tea,” Balin said quite out of nowhere, smiling a little at Bilbo. “Come along, Master Baggins, you’ve gone very pale. Let us get some tea in you and we can discuss this. This has been 15 years in the making and we can’t undo it all so hastily.” He turned on his heel and motioned for them to follow.

Bilbo very nearly blurted out he had just seen a dwarf beat another over a loaf of bread but a scathing look from his grandfather had him swallowing his words. He frowned as Gerontius motioned him along before he sighed, beginning to hurry after them, at least for the sake of not getting lost. And he kept his mouth shut the entire way, that little scene replaying in his mind - how merciless that dwarf had seemed! His bearing was something like Balin’s, perhaps a lord of some kind, and to use his position in such a way seemed unspeakable. What sort of dwarves were these, to be so cruel?

Quite before he knew it, Bilbo, his grandfather, and Balin were back in the Royal Wing. They were led to a large dining hall and sat at the darkly-stained table that was set for four already. Bilbo’s heart was still hammering away in his chest but after a few sips of tea and nibble of a biscuit, he did start to feel marginally better.

“Now, before the king joins us for dinner,” Balin said, looking at Bilbo, “please tell me your concerns. You need not worry, Master Baggins, I’m to be your advisor as much as his, and I will do what I can to help you.” He smiled kindly.

Bilbo swallowed, trying not to choke on his biscuit. “W-Well, um, you see… it’s as I said, I’m only a hobbit,” he tried feebly, not looking his grandfather’s way. “I didn’t expect Erebor to be so… grand. I’m not sure what I was expecting at all, actually, I only know it wasn’t this. I feel like I won’t be able to fit in here.”

“Admittedly, it will be difficult,” Balin conceded seriously, then smiled again. “But I have the utmost faith in you that it can be done. There is a reason your grandfather chose you to be consort to a king, after all. There will be trials, naturally, considering the variances in our cultures, but you have special permission to learn of us dwarves. You will be given proper etiquette classes and the king himself is eager to see you are comfortable here. It will get better, Master Baggins, and the mountain will not seem as daunting. I can swear that, lad.”

“I’m not so sure,” he said, weakly, “I honestly thought that I was ready to do this. I’ve not exactly had an easy time coming to terms with this but over the last few years, I’ve tried to prepare myself for this day and now that it’s here, it seems far worse than I ever imagined. I’m afraid I’ll make a terrible consort.”

“Nonsense,” Balin declared, waving his hand dismissively. “With the schooling you’ll have, you won’t have room for being terrible, laddie. Our aim is to make sure you do well and it is in your marriage contract that should you choose not to participate in the council, that you will not have to, even though it is traditional. His Majesty has taken care to respect a hobbit’s traditions to make you feel more at home. Meet the king, dine with him, and try to get a good night of rest. You’ll feel right as rain on the morrow.”

Bilbo tried not to giggle hysterically at that, as he was sure he would not be, no matter what Grandfather or Balin said.

“Aye,” Gerontius said, reaching over to give Bilbo’s shoulder another squeeze. “Listen to your future advisor, my boy. All will be well. We’re all nervous before the start of something new.”

 _But not everyone is forced into a marriage,_ Bilbo thought wildly, looking between them. He saw nothing but kindness and encouragement and it made him feel a bit ill. They hadn’t seen what he had, no, but he had a feeling they’d all be in the same place even if they had. He swallowed, nodding, reaching out to grab his tea. He took a slight sip, lowering his eyes to his plate as his elders began a lively conversation on agriculture.

Bilbo half-listened for politeness’ sake but mostly tried to get himself to calm down. He was a hobbit - a respectable one - and he had been convincing himself these last few years that he would marry a king. He had promised to make his parents proud, as this was what they had wanted for him. At the thought of them, his heart calmed, and he found himself breathing easier. And to his mild surprise, his stomach made its appearance, hungry rather than nauseous.

The door to the room suddenly opened and Bilbo lifted his gaze, the corner of his eye catching Balin and his grandfather hastily standing to greet the newcomer.

“Ah, your Majesty,” Balin greeted happily. “Allow me to introduce to you, Master Gerontius Took and Master Bilbo Baggins.” He cleared his throat. “Bilbo,” he murmured, for the hobbit had not stood.

Bilbo was gaping at the king. The bloody king of Erebor - the bloody monster that had been beating that poor dwarf! The very same, with his black hair and his- his bright blue eyes, which were wide as they stared back at him.

“You,” Thorin uttered, low and sounding rather shocked.

“Me?” Bilbo spluttered, the very thought of the king raising his hand to one of his people dashing away all hunger. He stood so quickly his chair nearly toppled over and he pointed an accusing finger at the king. “You! You- you are the _king!”_ he stated uselessly, though it managed to sound like he was scolding a particularly bothersome fauntling. “I can’t believe-”

“As you can see, Master Baggins and I are already acquainted,” Thorin interrupted, a deceptive calmness to his tone. His face fell lax and certainly more kingly as he said, “We did not meet in the best circumstances-”

“Circumstances!” Bilbo cried a bit shrilly. “No, no, not the best circumstances at all! I saw you _beating_ one of your people for stealing a loaf of bread! Bread!”

Thorin’s calm facade slipped and his mouth twisted in annoyance. “You do not know what you speak of,” he snapped, stepping closer to the table, looking larger than life in his furs and his armor and _bother it all!_

“I do know what I speak of,” Bilbo declared, but before he could get another word in, Balin cleared his throat in a long and drawn out sort of way.

“Ah, your Majesty?” he prodded, glancing between them warily. “What are _you_ speaking of, may I ask? I am sure the king beat no one, Master Baggins.”

“He did!” Bilbo nearly shouted, looking at Balin, feeling rather betrayed, though he didn’t know why. “I saw him! He was beating a poor, defenseless soul because he stole a bloody loaf of bread-”

“It is true that I raised my hand to the dwarrow,” Thorin spoke over him, glaring rather mightily. “Though it was not for the loaf of bread that I did, and had you been spying any earlier, you would have seen it.”

“Spying,” Bilbo spat out, though that was exactly what he had been doing - with good intentions, at least. “That’s what the dwarf said, he- he said he was trying to feed his children! I cannot believe that a place such as this even has any poor citizens, but for their very king to hurt them!”

“I have a temper, aye,” Thorin all but snarled in a strange admittance, stepping closer to Bilbo, his features tight. “But he spoke ill of my family and that deed does not go unpunished! You were not there for all of it.” He visibly pulled back and slipped into a more dignified stance, his eyes slipping to Balin. “The dwarrow in question did steal bread and coppers from a shop in the Garnet district. His sixth offense. He was brought to me for questioning and the words he spoke might have lost him his tongue.”

Bilbo gasped. “You’d cut out his tongue?” he demanded, scandalized. “Oh, how _dare-”_

“I did not, as you saw, cut out his tongue,” Thorin growled, sounding like he was running thin in patience. “Though perhaps I should not have even raised a hand to him.” He shot a dark look to Bilbo, who snapped his mouth shut, surprised by the tone of actual regret in the king’s words. “I should have imprisoned him for the year and been done with it. I am sorry you had to witness that, Master Baggins. I would have preferred otherwise.”

“Oh, believe me, as would I,” Bilbo hissed, still seeing Thorin raise his fist in his mind’s eye. His would-be husband! And yes, there went his stomach, acting ill again. He turned to his grandfather, whose mouth was hanging open, looking between the king and Bilbo. “Do you see? I really don’t think this is the best idea anymore.”

“You wish to end the marriage contract?” Thorin asked sharply, drawing Bilbo’s attention. They narrowed their eyes at each other and the hobbit squared himself.

“You’ve just admitted you have a temper and that you shouldn’t have beat one of your people. They were just _words,_ your Majesty, and you struck him,” he said with all the dignity he could manage. “I am sorry, but that’s not what I signed- er, well, that’s not what my parents signed the contract for!”

Balin and Grandfather both sighed raggedly.

“Bilbo,” they began, only to be silenced by the king.

“He is right,” Thorin said shortly, holding up his hand. “That is not what I wish to present myself as. I will endeavor to be better for you, Master Baggins. I swear it.” His blue eyes were piercing right through Bilbo and the hobbit had a difficult time willing away a blush - both because of his low tone and his words.

Bilbo hardly felt mollified but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to simply wander right back out of Erebor and declare this whole thing over and done with. They had been waiting 15 years and everyone in the Shire expected this of him - living and dead. He looked between the three other occupants in the room, trying to ignore Grandfather’s pleading grimace and Balin’s insistent arched eyebrows. It was Thorin, who was gazing back at him so expectantly.

The king was all sharp angles with his armor and his nose, his heavy brow and his forget-me-not eyes. He had streaks of grey through his otherwise black hair and his beard was dark, cropped fairly close to the skin for a dwarf. He was not heavily adorned in braids or beads as Bilbo had seen in the others but it only managed to make him look all the more regal. _And handsome,_ a small voice saw fit to sing.

He quashed it, feeling his shoulders sag under the immense weight of his duty and their gazes. He nodded a little, sitting heavily down in his chair, propriety be damned. There was a collective sigh of relief and Grandfather reached over to pat his hand consolingly. Bilbo shot him a sidelong glance before he looked back to Thorin - to his future king, his future husband.

It could only get better from there.  
  
Couldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about the BBC series North and South and how John and Margaret first meet. Then I kinda went "arranged marriage au where first impression are terrible" and here we are. Hope you enjoy this first chapter. I'd love to know what you think!
> 
>  [My tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner with Thorin had been stilted and awkward. Bilbo found he could only eat a single plateful and beyond that had only promised an upset stomach. It had distressed his grandfather quite a lot but considering Bilbo was in fact livid with the king still, he didn’t bother caring. He was hardly able to meet the dwarf’s eyes and when he did, Thorin had looked so eerily calm and collected that it only served to make him more annoyed. They had briefly spoken on some common interests but when it was made clear Bilbo was hardly going to be a good conversational partner, they had dined with only Balin and Gerontius making small talk about Erebor.

It had been rather mortifying and Bilbo was immensely grateful when Balin had offered to show the hobbits to their rooms. They were to stay the night, break their fast with the king in the morning, and then be sent on their merry way before doing it all over again in a few days. Thorin was supposed to start putting their wedding plans into motion when they returned and Bilbo began to hope that the dwarf was in as much agony at the idea of it as he was so that he would call it off.

No such discussion took place and after an incredibly painful breakfast in which Thorin and Bilbo got into an argument about what was actually the best pipe-weed in the East (Old Toby, naturally, and whatever Thorin had called the dwarven stuff had sounded like a foul curse) and didn’t part on the best of terms. Grandfather and Balin both seemed harried and tried to soothe Bilbo before he left the mountain, but he was having none of it. He left fuming and sent a rude hand gesture toward Erebor when Grandfather wasn’t looking.

When they finally rode back into the Shire, Bilbo was frightfully short with those that tried to question him on how it had gone and locked himself in his smial for the next day and a half. When he finally emerged, he had fallen into fits of anxiety rather than anger, which was no good in his opinion, and had sought out his cousins to spend some time with. Drogo and his sweetheart Primula helped in soothing his nerves in the way that no others could and by the time he had gone to bed that evening, he was feeling more surefooted and dignified.

Of course that all went to pot when Grandfather came calling the day before they were to set off for Erebor again. It all started amicably enough with tea and biscuits but soon delved into the territory of what Gerontius declared ‘needed to be discussed.’

“Now Bilbo, I know that you and Thorin did not get off to the best start,” Grandfather said, ignoring Bilbo’s snort with ease, “and though I don’t agree with what he did myself, he did seem to feel genuinely sorry for it. Promised to be better and for you!”

“Yes, but is that how he normally is? We certainly don’t know! How many citizens has he raised his hand to, hmm? And I don’t care what he says, he could do it again, if that’s something he’s been doing all this time,” Bilbo said loftily, leaning back in his favorite armchair, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

Grandfather sighed. “Balin assured us that he isn’t that sort,” he replied, squinting at his grandson. “And I’ve a mind to believe him. We don’t know what that dwarf said but if it was something another king might have cut his tongue out for-”

“Barbaric!”

“-then perhaps it was truly foul enough to cause him to lose his temper. He’s a dwarf, lad, they come with tempers,” Gerontius finished, waggling his finger. “And you know that. Give the boy a chance!”

“That boy is more than eighty years older than you-”

“Still young, though, and hardy as dwarves are,” Grandfather interrupted, harrumphing and reaching for his tea. He sipped at it before setting it aside and leveling Bilbo with a shrewd eye. “And you’re old enough to know not to judge a book by its cover. We’ve been protected by the dwarves these last 15 years and we can’t have it all be for naught. Never would have traded with them had it not been for the promise we made. You two need to have a conversation when we get back to Erebor so we can move on from this.”

Bilbo groaned. “I’d really rather not,” he answered, though he knew how useless it was. “I’m not judging a book by its cover, you know. He opened it and read its contents aloud to me. You didn’t see him. And it’s not as if he’s trying very hard to make up for it! He argued with me over pipe-weed and- and he’s hardly talkative besides!”

Gerontius sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. “Bilbo, you’ve not given him a chance to be,” he said sternly, his eyes narrowed. _“You_ were the one that got snide about the blasted pipe-weed, my boy, don’t try to pin that on him. You’ve been coming off nothing short of hostile, how can the poor lad try and speak with you? Let him show you who he actually is, eh? It’ll be two months before you’re married, I reckon, plenty of time to get to know someone!”

“It really isn’t!” Bilbo snapped back, a tad shrilly. At his grandfather’s withering look, he collapsed back against his chair and stared glumly at the fireplace. “Confusticate and bebother that dwarf! I don’t see how this is going to get any better.”

“By a little bit of effort on both of your parts! As stubborn as your mother, you are!” Gerontius said, though it was with some fondness behind the steel. “If I hadn’t been in contact with him over these last 15 years, I might not let this go on, but I’ve gotten to know his manner through his letters. He’s a good sort, that’s not hard to see. Don’t pull such a terrible veil over your eyes, lad, you’ll become more cynical than your father ever was.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “My father was sensible,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread on the armrest of his chair.

“Aye, that he was. But cynical,” the old hobbit replied, pointing a gnarled finger. “Took that daughter of mine to get him to laugh more and he was glad for it. Give Thorin a bit of wiggle room. You never know what you might find.”

“I’ve seen what I might find and I don’t like it,” Bilbo said, just to be a pain.  
  
Grandfather only tutted at him before returning to his tea, and he sighed, looking at his hearth and lamenting that he would not be able to sit in his favorite armchair by his comforting fire for too much longer.

In fact, he would have to move to Erebor within the fortnight, if he had to guess. It hadn’t be decided upon, as he and Thorin had to meet first and were meant to discuss it, but he had to find the time to go through his etiquette lessons. There was likely some grand ceremony with ridiculous dwarven traditions involved that he would need to learn in order to be prepared. The idea of it was daunting and he wondered if there would ever be a time where his stomach settled back into itself rather than pretending it was the sea.

He sighed again, louder this time, but Gerontius seemed to not be in an indulgent mood and ignored it, snacking on his biscuits.

Bilbo grumbled to himself. He knew this was a terrible idea when he was 25 and he wondered how he had ever thought it might be any different now.

——

By the time they rode to Erebor again and deposited their ponies with the guards, Bilbo had begun to speak in only grunts and huffs, much to his grandfather’s consternation. The old hobbit apparently thought it was too reminiscent of his tween years and seemed unequivocally unimpressed.

Served him right, in Bilbo’s opinion, though he knew how childish he was behaving. He hadn’t had a choice in any of this, however, and didn’t know how his grandfather was letting it happen still, after what he had seen and the king had admitted to doing. Bilbo felt rather alone in thinking it was completely terrible and extremely worrisome and cursed the bloody contract he wished to toss into the nearest fire.

Balin met them at the gates, obviously anxious, and Bilbo knew his own smile was far from polite, though he did make an effort. The older dwarf simply sighed, patted his shoulder, and began to lead them through the Mountain.

“His Majesty will be waiting to dine with you. He has cleared his duties for lunch, though he will likely not be available for dinner, as he has a meeting with nobles from the Iron Hills,” Balin explained as they hurried up the magnificent staircase with him, heading for the Royal Halls. “Though after that, I know he will wish to discuss plans for the ceremony so that we may get it underway.”

Bilbo wished to make a snide remark and Gerontius must have had an idea because he sent him a glare. Instead he held his tongue and only hummed as if interested, letting his attention wander to the goings-on of the many dwarves surrounding them. Erebor was still a wonder and he found himself hating it for that - he wished to despise everything about the mountain, but all before the excessiveness of the Royal Halls had him awed. He felt quite small in this place but it was not an oppressive feeling - no, the idea that he would be consort was the kicker.

He stifled a sigh as they went further up into the mountain and he began to recognize the halls before they reached the palace doors that were heavily guarded. They wandered inside and Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the ostentatious decor. No one was around just like his previous visit and he wondered if that was on purpose - surely the princes or their parents and any other royal relatives were about? Or perhaps they all had duties that kept them away. Something in his heart, however, told him that he would not meet anyone until it was a designated time and place.

“To the dining hall,” Balin announced cheerfully, turning right and heading for the same room that Bilbo had met Thorin in. When they reached the door, he came to a stop and turned to face the hobbits. “Master Took, a word if I may? Master Baggins, you may go in, his Majesty is just inside.”

Bilbo was, of course, instantly suspicious. There was a knowing look in Balin’s eye (a twinkle, daresay) that he didn’t like and Grandfather looked too innocent. He wished to stamp his foot and declare they’d have to drag him in kicking and screaming but refrained from such a display. Wouldn’t want the king to think _he_ was the mad one, would he? Instead, though he felt it a terrible idea to be alone with Thorin, he turned his nose up and opened the door with a bit more force than necessary, stepping inside.

He squinted toward the movement that caught his eye on the right side of the room. There was a roaring fire and two terribly soft looking armchairs, one of which Thorin seemed to have been occupying as he stood next to it. Bilbo tried not to glare immediately at him. He instead waited a breath or two before he did.

The king looked strange. It took Bilbo a moment to place it: he was not dressed in the same finery as he had been on their previous visit. He was wearing a simple blue tunic inlaid with silver stitching and dark trousers, held tight by a large and smart belt buckle. He looked quite handsome and Bilbo decided he liked him even less for it.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his voice oddly stilted as he took a few hesitant steps closer.

“Your Majesty,” Bilbo greeted, standing awkwardly in front of the door. He glanced back and sighed as he noticed it had closed itself, wondering at the two white-haired schemers on the other side of it. He turned back to Thorin and twitched his nose. “I suspect Balin and my grandfather will join us in a moment or two.”

Thorin inclined his head and then stared at him a hair too long to be comfortable. At Bilbo’s arched eyebrows, he started and motioned vaguely to the dining table.

Bilbo turned to it, took two steps forward, and faltered, blinking at the sight of the impressive mahogany. It looked different from before and it only took him a moment to realize it was because it was covered in bouquets of flowers in varying vases - quite a lot of flowers, in fact. He blinked quickly, the smell of them hitting his nose now that he saw them. It was heavenly and he stepped closer to examine the table before he paused again.

Oh goodness gracious. There were a truly _ridiculous_ amount of purple hyacinths and he tried not to choke on air, immediately cursing his grandfather.

Hyacinth! Peonies! An apology, an admittance of shame - hope for a happy life and marriage! Bilbo felt his cheeks flare with heat, sweeping his eyes along the table, settling them on the massive bundle of- _oh dear._

This time, he did choke on air, and began to cough, lifting his fist up to pound at his chest. _Camellias._ Bloody camellias!

“Are they wrong?” Thorin asked rather anxiously, coming to stand at Bilbo’s side, his brow furrowed as he stared at the flowers. “I was told you would be able to read them and what they mean.”

“Oh yes, told by my blasted grandfather, I’m sure!” Bilbo gasped, his eyes watering as he tried to get the tickle out of his throat. He pointed accusingly at the camellias. “They’re all quite lovely, but- but- oh bother it all! The camellias are rather bold! Especially considering we’ve met once!”

“The camellias are the…?” Thorin asked, sounding terribly confused, pointing at the peonies. Bilbo pointed at the right flowers and Thorin cleared his throat. “Ah. I thought those meant refinement, which I mean to promise you-”

“The white ones mean refinement, not red,” Bilbo spluttered, knowing full well his grandfather knew that. “Red means desire or- or that you think I’m- well, er. That you think I’m attractive, which is- that is to say- well, too bold!”

Thorin’s mouth hung open before he snapped it shut and turned nearly as red as the camellias, to Bilbo’s surprise and begrudging amusement both. “That is not what I was told. I did not mean to imply- I would never- though you are,” he stumbled, then looked rather horrified at himself. “I apologize, Master Baggins, I did not mean to upset you further. I will have them removed.” He turned toward the door.

Bilbo knew that one minute he was not holding the king’s arm and the next that he was, though he didn’t quite know how it happened. As Thorin glanced down at his hand, he hastily removed it and clasped his hands behind his back. “I- no no, don’t. I mean. They’re still lovely flowers and apparently someone thought to make this even more uncomfortable than it already is. No, it’s- it’s fine. Thank you for them all, they are a nice gesture.”

He was acutely aware that the king had gone to the trouble of finding a way to apologize him that would suit a hobbit. He didn’t think his grandfather would go so far as to suggest it, so either Thorin did himself or perhaps Balin, but it was a gesture of peace and Bilbo recognized that. It didn’t change what Thorin had done, of course, but the king looked terribly nervous, so perhaps this was genuine enough.

Bilbo sighed, looking toward the chair he had sat in before, seeing that it was already set for a meal. He sat down rather heavily and looked at the overabundance of flowers littering the table - they certainly hadn’t come from the mountain. In fact, he could think of a few gardens they did come from, and cursed his grandfather even further.

Thorin took his own seat at the head of the table, where he proceeded to stare at the flowers in something like dismay before he finally turned his attention to the hobbit. “The journey to Erebor went well?” he asked.

“It’s a two hour ride at most,” Bilbo replied, rapping his fingers against his thighs, barely managing to hold Thorin’s gaze. “It’s not exactly a perilous road.”

Thorin was silent for a moment, shifting a little in his chair. “I have not been to the Shire in some time,” he said, sounding somewhat ashamed. “Not since-”

“You signed a contract?” Bilbo asked, a touch bitterly.

The king’s lips thinned and he inclined his head. “Only once after,” he replied, sighing. “From your grandfather’s letters, I understood that you were not eager to be chosen by him for this, in the beginning. And I… I am aware that I did not inspire confidence by my actions. I am sorry, Master Baggins, that that is how we met. I would like to start anew, so that you may know me and I you.”

Bilbo looked at his plate, uncomfortable with Thorin’s earnest tone. How could he trust it? “Do you know, it was far longer than just the beginning that I wasn’t eager for this, which is putting it mildly,” he said, glancing at Thorin. “It was many, many years, in fact, and I only really accepted it after my parents died.” He held his hand up as Thorin opened his mouth to no doubt apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. “Please, don’t. But I’ve been working myself up the last few years for this and- and I thought I’d try and see where it was going to go. So when I saw what I saw, _confidence_ was not the only thing lost. Exactly how am I supposed to trust you with your people, let alone _me,_ after what I saw?”

“I would never hurt you,” Thorin bit out fiercely. Bilbo’s reproachful glare seemed to cow him down some. “I cannot ask you to trust me. I do not often take the punishment of my people into my own hands but it was his sixth offense and my guard thought my sentencing would do him better than the court. I am not condoning what I did, but his words, at the time, left me with little choice.”

“It was still a choice,” Bilbo said, his chest burning with a lick of anger still. “It _was_ a choice. A king should know better-”

“Another king would have removed his tongue, Master Baggins,” Thorin snapped, his hand resting on the table clenching into a white-knuckled fist. “And it would have been justified. You are neither a king nor a dwarf, do not presume what a king should know. I regret that I lost my temper but he only added on to his sentencing with his words. That was his choice.”

“You’re not going to tell me what he said,” Bilbo stated rather than asked.

“They were not kind words,” Thorin returned, shaking his head. “No, I will not repeat them.”

“Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, he said some foul things because he’s starving while you’re living up here with- with this?” Bilbo asked, gesturing at the silverware and plates. “The wealth in this room alone would carry his family through years, more than likely! Did you ever think that he was cruel because he has only been shown cruelty?”

Thorin sighed. “There is poverty in every kingdom, Master Baggins,” he said wearily. “There always will be. It can be helped, which I strive to do, but it cannot be stopped. I do not know his lot in life-”

“Exactly!” Bilbo interrupted, sitting up straighter and waving his hand through the air. “Exactly, you don’t. You don’t know how far he’s been pushed.”

“Nor do you know how unwilling he has been to improve his lot in life,” Thorin retorted. “It does not matter. He spoke ill of my family and I. That is a crime and he has been punished as he should have been, and aye, as he shouldn’t have been. I am sorry for it. I do not raise my hand to any but in the training grounds and I will not do so again. That is the end of it.”

Bilbo slouched back in his chair, silently fuming, glaring at the peonies.  
  
He knew Thorin had a point, but he also knew he had a point that the king was not paying any mind to. And what was worse, was that he knew Thorin was genuinely sorry for it - it wasn’t hard to see that he meant it and that he meant not to do it again. It didn’t mean that he agreed with his stance on the poor, however - that, he was sure could be improved.

 _Something you could do as Consort,_ a small voice saw fit to inform him, and he swore rather vehemently back at it. He did not want to be a bloody consort but he knew there was no way out of it, not at this point.

“Were we not going to eat?” he blurted, for lack of anything better to say, and the fact that his annoyance made him hungry.

Thorin looked startled at the sudden question before he cleared his throat, inclining his head. “Aye, we are. Balin said that lunch was being prepared, he can send for it. I will see what the delay is,” he answered, standing from his chair and walking to the door.

Bilbo watched him go, squinting at the back of his head and crossing his arms over his chest. Thorin opened the door and peered out into the cavernous room beyond, hesitating a moment before he barked something out in Khuzdul. There was a pause, and then a reply back that Bilbo couldn’t make out, before the king stepped back and looked at the hobbit.

“They had taken to conversing it seems. Balin will send for our meal now,” he informed Bilbo, stepping back to the table and resuming his seat. “I hope you enjoy pheasant.”

“Oh I enjoy most any foods,” Bilbo replied back, forgetting his ire for a moment. “And I quite like game birds. I am sure your cooks here know how to handle most anything. Though they may not be able to rival my baking skills. One of the best in the Shire, you know.”

Thorin didn’t smile, but his eyes softened and he appeared curious. “Are you? My personal cook, Bombur, makes pies like I have never tasted before. You may not be able to compete with a dwarf such as he.”

Bilbo puffed out his chest. “Well, you’ve never had my rhubarb,” he said, shaking a finger. “I’ll not take that as the challenge it sounded like.”

“And yet, somehow, I think you might enjoy challenges,” Thorin commented, his face like chiseled stone.

Bilbo shot him a mild glare. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was supposed to be some attempt at humor,” he replied, sniffing.

Thorin frowned. “I can assure you, Master Baggins, as a king, I do not have a sense of humor,” he said.

The hobbit snorted, then chuckled before he could stop himself, looking away from Thorin’s eyes and missing his quirking lips. “Yes, well. You don’t seem the type,” he muttered, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “Not at all, actually.”

“I think it is fair to say we know very little of one another,” Thorin returned, his tone low. When Bilbo looked back at him, he saw that he was being watched with apprehension. “I would like to know you, Master Baggins. Your grandfather was discreet when writing of you.”

“I think I should be concerned how often you two must have written each other,” Bilbo said, raising his eyebrows. “It seems like quite a lot more than I thought. I don’t want to know anything of what he’s said about me, though he didn’t do me the favor of telling me anything about you. May I ask why you never came to the Shire, if you wished to know me?”

Thorin had the good grace to look ashamed. “When your grandfather mentioned that you were not… pleased with his choice, I thought it best to not impose on you before you were ready. I _am_ aware that you were not pleased for some time. I do not know why I haven’t come in these last five or so years, though perhaps I should have. I knew that we would meet in the end,” he answered.

Bilbo thought that was highly unsatisfactory and whatever Thorin read on his face had him wincing a little. Not that he would’ve been overly thrilled with meeting the dwarf himself, of course, but he would have welcomed it these last few years - Thorin was the one that asked for this entire charade to begin with, so many years ago.

As Bilbo opened his mouth to ask _why,_ the sound of voices distracted the king and they both turned toward the doorway. Balin and Grandfather came strolling into the room, apparently thick as thieves, both grinning at something that was said. When their eyes fell on the duo at the table, Bilbo was disgruntled to see overly confident smiles and pleasant surprise. He squinted at his grandfather, who had the gall to walk with a pep in his step as he came over to seat himself.

“Lovely arrangements!” he praised, gesturing at the flowers. “And good sentiments to boot.”

“Oh, you had nothing to do with it, I imagine,” Bilbo retorted, folding his arms.

“Very little, I promise you,” Grandfather said, smiling genially as he looked over the bouquets. He chuckled lightly at the red camellias, which pinkened both Bilbo and Thorin’s cheeks, though they steadfastly avoided eye contact.  
  
Gerontius turned to them. “I trust that you two have come to an understanding?”

Bilbo chose not to respond to that, so it was Thorin that murmured, “Aye, that we have.” Which was only somewhat true but it would have to do. He didn’t wish to be stuck in anymore rooms alone with the king so they could further confuse each other. He’d had quite enough of it already.

Lunch was finally served. There were three pheasants with mounds of mashed potatoes (creamed and salted) and bowls of roasted, herbed vegetables that had been lacking in their first meal with the dwarves. Brown bread and cinnamon honey butter were served alongside the main dishes, as well as mulled wine and bitter, strong ale. It was a delightful spread that Bilbo was happy to partake in, now that it seemed his appetite was making a ferocious return. He pretended he didn’t see the wonder and amusement on both Thorin's and Balin’s faces as he and his grandfather ate enough to call it a true luncheon.

There was mild chit chat between them all but it seemed that any wedding planning business was truly not going to take place until that evening. Bilbo was glad enough for that though he suspected his day was going to drag along if he didn’t have anything else to do. Thankfully that settled itself in Balin offering to give a much larger tour of Erebor to Bilbo.

Thorin seemed to not mind the idea, though he forbade the mines and a few other places that Bilbo couldn’t hope to pronounce. He didn’t know if it was because they were dangerous or if strangers weren’t permitted to see them. Balin only arched his eyebrows and settled an amused look on the king, which made Thorin grumble and hasten a retreat.

Bilbo was immensely curious but didn’t dare ask.

Balin, Gerontius, and Bilbo all chattered in a fairly good-natured fashion until lunch had been sufficiently digested. After deeming it safe, they set off and began their exploration of Erebor.

Besides the library and throne room, there were numerous other significant sights in the mountain to see. Some were political - great chambers and halls meant for grand processions or speeches, as well as some small council rooms. Others were quite fascinating, such as the royal kitchens and numerous galleries that held the history of Erebor in tapestries, paintings, and sculptures. There was a public bathing house that had Bilbo both mortified and fascinated to see; the sunken pools of marble and other stones that were pebbly in appearance steamed with hot, fresh water, and Balin took the opportunity to show off some of that famous dwarven plumbing.

It was all a bit above Bilbo but he found it terrifically wondrous and didn’t bother censoring himself about it. Balin looked quite pleased and he supposed if he was to go through with all of this - as if he had a choice - he would actually try and put some effort into it. Thorin clearly was, and if he kept fighting it, he would only look like a petulant child, and he was far too much of a respectable hobbit for that.

They went to the market next and Bilbo was actually able to view it in all its glory. There were as many dwarves going to and fro as hobbits in the Shire, it felt like, though he knew it wasn’t exactly true - a massive wave of bejeweled and hairy beings that knew exactly where they were headed and Bilbo did all he could to not be underfoot. Thankfully Balin seemed to have a bit of a bubble built into him and most dwarves moved out of his way as they walked.

They passed stalls of furs, neckerchiefs, buckles, toys, tools he had no idea whose purpose was, and many small carts of different foods. He was disappointed then for his large lunch, as he was only able to stomach two pies - one mince and the other a small blueberry pie dusted with powdered sugar. It was delightful and he and Grandfather thoroughly enjoyed them as they explored the rest of the market.

Bilbo bought himself a new pipe, a lovely thing, darkly stained and long-stemmed, though he firmly declined on the dwarven pipe-weed. He had a pack of Old Toby in his rooms and was eager to put his pipe to use once he was able to breathe later in the evening.

After the market were a fair few shops that Balin thought Bilbo might enjoy or that would be of necessity before long. Tailors and tea rooms and other such things. It was all quite wonderful and Bilbo was almost disappointed when Grandfather finally wheezed that he could go no further. When Balin checked the time, he seemed rather shocked and declared their tour certainly at an end, and set off at once to show them back to their rooms.

Once Balin was off, Grandfather murmured about needing to put up his feet, which Bilbo knew meant a nap, so he bid him goodbye and locked himself up in his own guest rooms.

They were, naturally, excessive, though the most vain part of him liked them for their overabundance of comfort. The bed was canopied and could easily fit six hobbits with room enough to spare for pointy elbows, and the fireplace was adorned with two armchairs that were nearly as comfortable as his own at home. He even had his own private washroom with a sunken tub that he was eager to use before bed.

The first night he had spent in Erebor, he had hardly slept with everything that was on his mind, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the same that evening.

Bilbo dug out his pipe-weed from his pack and took up residence in an armchair, lighting his new pipe and puffing on it gladly. He blew smoke rings and hummed to himself as he admired the decor.

The knock at the door had him hacking against smoke that went down the wrong way, but after composing himself, he straightened out his waistcoat and went to answer it. There were another series of knocks against it before he quite got to it and he huffed at dwarven rudeness - for it was certainly not his grandfather.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he said, praying to all that was good in the world that it was not Thorin Oakenshield on the other side. He wasn’t quite ready to face the king yet and he wasn’t supposed to see him until after dinner besides.

Bilbo opened the door and blinked at the two dwarves standing there, identical smiles on their faces.

“Fili-”

“-and Kili-”

“-at your service!”

He blinked more at them, gaping as he watched them bow, perfectly in sync with each other. “F-Fili and Kili?” he repeated, looking between the blond on the left and the brunet on the right. “Thorin’s nephews?”

“At your service!” they repeated, though this time it was with a touch of cheekiness and Bilbo was having none of that.

“Yes, but why are you here?” he asked, then had to refrain from clapping his hand over his mouth. “I mean. Goodness, you’ve taken me by surprise, I had no idea you were coming. Um. Please, er, come in? I think. Are we supposed to be meeting?”

The brothers exchanged a glance, then looked back at him, grinning before they shouldered their way inside of his rooms, ignoring his squawking.

“Thank you, Mister Boggins,” the brunet, Kili, said, craning his neck, looking around for who knew what before he bounded over to an armchair, collapsing into it. “We’ve been dying to come meet you! Uncle said we had to wait until after you had your lunch today, so here we are. You’re just his type, you know.”

“I’m what?” Bilbo squeaked, watching as Fili strutted around the room, also looking for who knew what before he turned to face the hobbit, an odd smirk on his face.

“You really are. We’ve been hearing about you for so long now, though, that maybe we’re a bit biased,” he said, winking. He went over and joined his brother in the other armchair, leaving precisely nowhere for Bilbo to sit, though they didn’t seem to pay it any mind. “How have you been faring? We heard our uncle made quite the impression your first day here.”

“He was in such a sour mood that night,” Kili bemoaned, roving his eyes over his person, much to Bilbo’s annoyance. “Have things been better now? Or do we need to take him ‘round back and teach him a thing or two?”

Bilbo continued to gape between them, feeling entirely wrong-footed. “I- I am sure I don’t- that is to say, I mean, well,” he managed, congratulating himself on his eloquence. He sighed as the brothers smiled widely between each other, and reminded himself that they had not yet reached their majority, even if they both looked fairly adult-like. “Things have been, ah, better, I suppose. Are you quite sure you’re allowed to be here?”

“Why wouldn’t we be? Our rooms are just down the way from here, you know. It was hard to not come visit you the first time you were here,” Kili answered brightly, snatching up Bilbo’s new pipe and turning it over in his hands, minding the ash in the bowl.

“No one has forbidden us from being here,” Fili continued, smiling at Bilbo, much more friendly this time. “You’re to be part of the family soon. Have you and Uncle started planning yet? A royal wedding is one thing, but the king’s wedding! Everyone is excited, especially Dori. Royal tailor. He’ll be poking and prodding at you before too long.”

Bilbo was not prepared for this. He was not prepared for his soon-to-be nephews, he was not prepared to talk about his wedding, he was _not prepared._ He looked helplessly between them, opening his mouth and closing it, trying suddenly and with great vigor to not burst into tears.  
  
The boys frowned at him and he cleared his throat, shaking his head.

“I- I’m afraid we haven’t discussed it quite yet. When we meet tonight, we’ll officially start… planning, I suppose,” he said, still standing in the middle of the room.

Fili glanced sidelong at his brother, murmuring something in Khuzdul, which was terribly rude, but Kili nodded and looked back to Bilbo.

“Uncle’s not so bad,” he said, in what was apparently an attempt to reassure him. Kili leapt up from his chair and moved to Bilbo, throwing his arm around his shoulders and leading him back to the armchair, where he was shoved down rather unceremoniously. “He’s grumpy, aye, but he’s got a lot of weight on his shoulders, so we kind of expect that. But whatever happened when you met, he’s not like that.”

“He’s not,” Fili agreed, watching Bilbo closely. “We promise. He’s been stressed, we think, with the idea of you joining us finally. He’s been waiting a long time. We’d like to see him happy for once.”

“Yes, but,” Bilbo started, then stopped, frowning. “You do realize this marriage is mostly for appearances’ sake? We’re not expected to be, well, spousal, in any way.”

“You don’t actually believe Uncle waited 15 years to marry you just for appearances’ sake, do you?” Kili shot back, grinning a little, which was rather worrying. At Bilbo’s bemusement, the brunet sighed. “Part of it is that, but he’s also the loneliest dwarf I’ve ever known. So that’s why we’re here! To make sure you’re the right one to make him unlonely!”

“That, for one, is a terrible word,” Bilbo said, gathering himself more, sitting up on the edge of his chair and shaking his finger at the young dwarf. “And secondly, nowhere in our contract does it say I have to make him unlonely. Though I am a perfectly respectable hobbit, thank you very much, and I’ve been trying to ready myself for this these last few years.”

The brothers exchanged another unreadable look before smiling brightly at him. “Aye, we’re sure you are,” Fili conceded. “But he’s family and we have to protect him, too. And after how you two got off, we want you to know he’s got a good soul. An ancient soul, but a good one.”

Bilbo sighed, strained. “Boys, I am very happy that you respect your uncle so much, but after what I saw, he has to prove that to me himself. Surely you know what I must have thought,” he said, folding his arms over his chest and frowning. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

The dwarves sighed together, nodding. “No, and we’re not saying what he did was right. Actually, we were both a little shocked when Balin told us all about it, though he did call our mother a whore for marrying a low born,” Kili said, as if he were mentioning the state of the weather. “And that Thorin was going to go mad like his grandfather did, and that Fili had tainted, cursed blood, and that he hoped the line of Durin ended-”

“Wait, hold on!” Bilbo squeaked, holding up his hands. “That dwarf said those things?” They nodded, their expressions guileless, and he wrinkled his nose. “W-Well, that’s quite, er, foul I suppose. But they are still just words from someone angry with quite a lot of things I imagine.”

Fili frowned at him. “Aye, but so is Uncle. All of that was hitting close to home and that dwarf knew it,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “He chose his fate when he went where he knew it would hurt. If Thorin’s grandfather had heard anything like it, he would have-”

“Cut out his tongue?” Bilbo asked, wincing when they both nodded at him. “Goodness. Well. Still! I am sure your mother knows how to defend herself, and- and that Thorin knows he won’t go _mad.”_

They both stared at him, rather heavily, until he squirmed. Then Fili sighed, slumping back in his chair and pressing his fingers to his brow. “You don’t know much about us, do you?” he asked slowly, as if he were speaking to someone very young.

Bilbo scowled. “Well, no, perhaps not-”

“Mum died over twenty years ago,” Kili interrupted, again as if it were nothing, though Bilbo was beginning to suspect it was a coping mechanism. “And our great-grandfather did go mad, and our grandfather gave up the crown when he felt like he was going to as well. Thorin was very young when he inherited it. He’s had a rough time and so if that dwarrow chose to mouth off to him, I’d say he’s lucky he kept his tongue and that he’s only spending a year imprisoned.”

Bilbo felt his mouth hanging agape, but could do nothing for it, and stared between the brothers. They didn’t seem to have any malice about them and were watching him curiously, but it was quite a lot for his mind to handle at the moment. He suddenly felt terrible, as he had no idea the king’s sister had died, and hadn’t in fact known if Thorin’s nephews were even from a brother or sister. He had never asked about Thorin, so he had never learned about him, and he felt woefully unprepared all over again.

“I- I am sorry,” Bilbo said hoarsely, slouching in his armchair, wishing to disappear. “I didn’t realize… I suppose that’s my fault. Now I feel rather awful, I didn’t know your mother was- was…”

“Don’t worry, Mister Baggins,” Fili interrupted, smiling crookedly. “You’ve barely talked to Uncle, we know that. He’s not about to tell you all about himself, he’s terrible at sharing-”

“-speaking more like-”

“-and we know that,” Fili finished over his brother. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. But we do hope it gives some context, at least - I know I would be feeling what you are, in your position. Uncle is terrifying when he’s angry, though he’s never raised a hand to any of us.”

“Sometimes he has to go to the training grounds after we’ve ticked him off,” Kili chuckled, grinning at his brother. “But that’s about as far as he goes. He’s a good person, Mister Boggins.”

Bilbo was somewhat concerned that was going to become a new moniker, but he hadn’t the heart to stop the dwarf. Instead, he sighed and rubbed his hand slowly along his face. “I still need him to prove that,” he muttered. “I would have needed it even without what happened. Just as I do for anyone I meet, though I have already given him the benefit of the doubt.”

They both smiled, looking pleased. “Did you like the flowers?” Fili asked, his tone eager as he sat up more in his chair.

Bilbo groaned. Was he to have no peace with these dwarves? “Yes,” he answered, a little strangled. “Though there were quite a few more than strictly necessary. A single bouquet would have done it, more than likely.”

“Oh, Mister Boggins,” Kili said, reaching down to grasp Bilbo’s shoulder, looking solemn, “with Uncle, it’ll never be a single bouquet.”

Bilbo didn’t like how ominous that sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Fili and Kili stayed with Bilbo for a few hours - much longer than he had been expecting, but after their rocky start, it did gradually become easier to be in their presence. Kili eventually gave up calling Bilbo ‘Mister Boggins’ but tended to throw ‘Uncle’ in there now and then, which didn’t fail to make him flustered and drop his pipe.

He and Fili played a few games of chess and as conversation flowed, Bilbo learned more about the brothers, about Erebor, and about Thorin.

The brothers’ father had died when they were both still young and Thorin had endeavored to do what he could in his stead. He could not be a father to them but he tried to be more than their king and they in turn, according to their mother, helped Thorin tether himself to the ground and not get lost in his duties. He apparently made for a grand uncle that taught them how to fight, who took them hunting once a year, and taught them the history of their line. They made sure to mention how wonderful he was numerous times, to Bilbo’s annoyance and amusement both.

Thorin’s life had not been overly kind to him.

His grandfather, during his rule, had become obsessed with his treasure hoard and had steadily lost himself to it. He lusted after gold with a passion so fierce that there had been talk of an uprising amongst the people, who were left poor and heavily taxed.

There was no uprising, though according to Fili, Thror one day went into his hoard and didn’t come out. When he mentioned that it took a week to find his body, Bilbo had tried and failed not to shudder. It was his grandson who had found him and the hobbit’s heart ached at the idea of Thorin finding a once powerful, mighty figure in his life wasted away to nothing, dying over an obsession.

Thrain, Thorin’s father, had been forced to take up the crown when he was not prepared for it. He did what he could for his people and appeased them by decreasing taxes and letting the accumulated wealth in the mountain spread to the poorest of its citizens. He was not a well-loved king despite undoing much of what Thror had done; he was seen as weak, feeble, and without love for Erebor. It wore Thrain down, until he too started to form an obsession: the king was a jeweler by trade and had started to escape into making fineries, ignoring his council and his people.

And then there had been a battle, a battle that would claim the lives of many dwarves, including the king’s own son and Thorin’s brother, Frerin, whose existence had been unknown to Bilbo. Fili and Kili didn’t have much to say about their uncle, as they had not known him in their lives. They mentioned that he was a shining personality that had kept his father from sinking; it was Frerin’s death that pushed Thrain over the edge.

He could no longer bear the weight of the crown and felt as if he might have been losing his mind under its pressure. Too frightened and overcome by what he had seen happen to his father, Thrain had given the crown to his eldest son, and died an untimely death a few short years later.

Thorin had been young - too young. He had been schooled properly for his own kingship but he was hardly over his majority when he had inherited the crown. But despite that, he had drastically overhauled the council, casting aside members he felt did not have Erebor’s best interests in mind, and molded his rule into something of his own making. He rallied his dejected people and soon went from being heavily doubted to an adored king. He led Erebor into prosperous times, with the aid of his sister, her husband, and eventually with the help of his nephews, who gave him light in dark times.

Fili and Kili’s father, Vili, was a common dwarf, with not one drop of royal blood in his veins. He had been a miner and, according to the brothers, had been allowed to marry Dis because Thorin didn’t give a rat’s arse about the protests from the council members and had simply been happy for his sister. They had married for love, something Thorin had admired, and he was all too happy to see them together.

Vili had died in a mining accident when Kili was hardly more than a babe. It had not destroyed their mother, for their sake, but it had been a near thing. It was with Thorin’s help that she did not fall to pieces. Fili and Kili both spoke of him most fondly then, Bilbo noted.

Fili was only a scant 45, his brother 40, when Dis died suddenly. She had gone to the Greenwood to speak with the elves about trade routes when her and her guard had been attacked by orcs that had come down from the mountains during a harsh winter. None had survived, as it had been a small party, though Fili, with his eyes shining bright, had proudly informed Bilbo that his mother had been found surrounded by numerous dead orcs. She was apparently quite the soldier, though against many numbers, just like Frerin had been once upon a time, she was overcome.

The boys had been old enough to know that, despite it having been their own mother they lost, they would need to support their uncle. Dis had been the one to do it and without her, Thorin had apparently become a shell for quite a while; he had not been there for the brothers like they would have liked but they had instead gone to him and eventually brought him back to life. Kili mentioned that when Thorin had finally come back to himself, he had despaired over leaving them alone in their grief and from then on, had never looked back. He had become an even stronger king and a more devoted, loving uncle. Kili mentioned then that he really did see Thorin as their father, but out of respect for Vili, they had not voiced that aloud.

It was when Thorin came out of the haze of his sister’s loss that he was asked by the Thain - Gerontius - about strengthening the Shire’s friendship with Erebor should another Fell Winter come.

It was then that Thorin had asked for a consort and Bilbo suspected he knew a few reasons why, though certainly not all of them. The king had lost nearly everyone in his family and had been left alone. He had mentioned to Grandfather that he was looking for a companion, so it seemed he truly felt lonely, as Kili had put it. He wished to have someone at his side, though Bilbo secretly thought that he himself would be too terrified of losing yet another person, after all Thorin had gone through.

Why he wished to wait 15 years to be married, Bilbo couldn’t say. Just because Grandfather thought that he might go on to make a good consort didn’t mean that Thorin _should_ have waited. He could have asked for someone sooner, someone older, maybe someone that might even want to do it. But he hadn’t. He had waited for Bilbo.

He wished to know why but he hadn’t posed the question to Fili and Kili. It seemed wrong to do so when he very well could ask Thorin himself.

Not that it made the idea of it any easier but considering he was in fact supposed to be the other half of their marriage, he felt he had the right to know.

Bilbo, Fili, and Kili found Grandfather and met Balin at the dining hall. They ate dinner together and it was the best meal Bilbo had had thus far in Erebor, both because of the roasted venison and company. He found himself laughing at the brothers’ antics and felt marginally better about the entire thing. If they were to be his family, well, he could do worse.

Once dinner and a fair amount of fruit pies were eaten, the dwarves and hobbits enjoyed pipes together and chatted about nonsense until rather late in the evening. It was then that Thorin finally made his appearance.

The king strode into the receiving room that they had taken up residence in after their dinner. He was dressed in finery again, his heavy, angular crown sitting on his brow, and his magnificent fur coat making him appear broader than he already was. Silence fell over the room as he approached and Bilbo thought that the king looked oddly pained for it.

“I apologize that the hour is later than we had decided upon,” Thorin said, looking more at Gerontius than Bilbo. “Nobles from the Iron Hills seemed more keen on not letting me sleep tonight but I managed to draw our meeting to a close before that could happen.” He glanced at his nephews, his lips thinning. “I hope that my nephews have behaved themselves.”

They looked mildly affronted, which Bilbo didn’t blame them for, but Fili sighed. “We’ve been on our best behavior, Uncle,” he dutifully responded, though it lacked any color. Unsurprising, as they were not 20 anymore. “We’ve been enjoying getting to know Bilbo and Mister Took in your absence.”

“They’ve actually spent quite a lot of time with me today,” Bilbo added, not particularly thrilled to be ignored by his intended, though he didn’t know why. Thorin hardly spared him a glance at his words and he tried not to be offended. Perhaps he simply had a long day and it made him behave like an arse.

Fili’s and Kili’s heads swiveled between them both. “Aye, that we have,” Kili said, rather loudly, grinning at Bilbo. “Lots and _lots_ of time with Bilbo. But now I think it’s time we’re off. Let you two discuss… the wedding and all that. C’mon, Fee, I’ll tuck you in.”

Fili huffed as Bilbo tried to hide his smile in his hand. He stood and stretched his back. “Aye, best let them have a bit of privacy,” he said, winking at the hobbits. “It was good to meet you, Bilbo, Mister Took. We’ll be joining you for breakfast tomorrow!”

“We’re not missing this one!” Kili agreed, throwing his arm over his brother’s shoulders.

“You’re good lads,” Gerontius said fondly.

He might have had a few too many ales with their dinner, Bilbo was mildly dismayed to notice.

Balin cleared his throat and waved in a shooing motion at the boys, who laughed as if it was somehow hilarious, and bounded out of the room without any further ado. Thorin was looking after them, still pained, before he sighed and removed his fur coat, tossing it onto the armchair Kili had occupied. His crown was set on top of the bundle and the king sat on the armchair next to it, looking much plainer, but no less handsome.

Bilbo resolutely did not think about that and glanced sidelong at his grandfather. The Old Took’s cheeks were apple-red and his genial smile had Bilbo somewhat concerned for their meeting.

“Well then,” Balin said, with obvious forced cheer, clapping his hands together, “now that Your Majesty is here, we may begin! I have all the necessary documents to go over and a few more besides.” He produced an entire stack of parchment from somewhere within his clothes and set them with a flourish on the low table before him.

Bilbo was both gladdened and irritated to see Thorin eyeing the papers with as much trepidation as he felt.

He sniffed, shifting to the edge of his chair. “These are all the arrangements thus far?” he asked politely, leaning in and squinting at the top parchment. It read _‘Guests and So On’_ and Bilbo mourned for the next few hours of his life.

“Indeed,” Balin answered, plucking up the first stack of parchment. “The guests. We will begin sending out invitations within the next few days, once an official date has been decided upon. Any of your kin and friends are welcome, Bilbo, and we are prepared to offer as many invitations as needed for them. King Thranduil’s court must be invited, as well as Lord Bard’s, from Dale. Citizens from both kingdoms will be allowed to enter the Gallery of the Kings for the ceremony but they will not attend the reception. Objections?”

He settled a surprisingly stern eye on Thorin and the king’s mouth twisted as if he were annoyed, but he gave a curt shake of his head anyway. Balin looked expectantly at Bilbo.

“What?” he asked, a little belatedly, before he started. “Oh, er. No. No objections on my part. E-Exactly how many people might be in attendance?”

Balin smiled, and Bilbo didn’t like the sympathetic edge it had. “The Gallery of the Kings is larger than where our markets take place, if you remember,” he said kindly.

“Oh, right,” Bilbo murmured, his vision spotting black almost instantly. He took in a few steady breaths, glancing at his grandfather, who was watching him with concern. “Right then. I suppose I can expect the entirety of the East to attend.”

“Your etiquette lessons will help you on that day,” Balin said, handing off the parchment for Thorin to take. “It will not seem as daunting when you know how the ceremony will proceed.”

Bilbo was rather sure his etiquette lessons would only serve to make everything worse but kept his mouth shut on the matter, not wishing to disappoint his grandfather or seem feeble in front of Thorin. He dared a glance at the king, who was reading over the list of guests (multiple pages thick) with no discernible expression. Bilbo suspected it was how he looked when he went over any documents he had to.

“I think the majority of the Shire will want to attend,” Bilbo muttered, for lack of anything better to say.

“Aye,” Gerontius agreed, his head bobbing to some unknown tune. “That they will. Even the Sackville-Bagginses will wish to see the ceremony.”

Bilbo sighed at the smug look his grandfather sported and tried not to slouch in his armchair. “Yes, well. Lobelia will be disappointed that I’m not handing Bag End over to her. Or my silverware, for that matter. I’m not going to bother handing out any presents that day.”

“Why would you hand out presents?” Thorin asked, looking up at Bilbo with a frown. “Is this a hobbit tradition?”

“Oh yes,” Bilbo replied, “handing out presents at birthdays and weddings is our tradition, though I know most everyone else receives them instead. Sometimes at weddings, the couple will be given necessities for a new home, but that’s normally it. I have so many relatives that I mostly just bake for them on my birthday but occasionally I do hand out more personal gifts.”

Thorin looked so genuinely confused, maybe even concerned, that Bilbo wondered if he had spoken in tongues.

“We can honor your traditions,” he said almost earnestly after a moment of thought. “I would not wish to ignore them. My coffers are yours, if that is an issue.”

“I can afford it, thank you,” Bilbo said coolly, even though he knew he could only to a certain extent. “But there’s really no need. If they honestly expect me to gift hundreds of them all at once, then they hardly deserve it anyway. If there is good food to be had, which I know there will be, most of my family and friends will be thrilled. They’re happy enough for a party at any given time.”

Thorin didn’t look particularly convinced but he inclined his head and turned back to the parchment, appearing a bit more hunched in on himself than he had a moment ago. Bilbo didn’t have the time to wonder about it, as Balin harrumphed and picked up the next parchment, straightening it out.

“Dress code for the ceremony and the reception,” he announced, sending a knowing look to Bilbo as he scrunched up his nose. “His Majesty’s clothing will be made ready within the next week and then we will fit and dress you according to his colors. Matching cloaks are traditional for the ceremony. Our tailors are prepared to honor any clothing that would be traditional at a hobbit’s ceremony but the cloak must be worn. You will meet with Dori, our royal tailor, as soon as the king’s wardrobe is prepared. Will there be any particulars you might ask for, laddie?”

Bilbo blinked a few times, attempting to hear over the sudden roar in his ears. He shook his head after a moment, with vigor, and said, “Er, no. We simply wear our best waistcoats and trousers. The only tradition that we have is flower crowns, but that of course won’t be necessary.”

This wedding wasn’t exactly traditional, but Bilbo kept that thought to himself, as he knew the other occupants in the room were well aware of it.

“Flower crowns?” Balin asked, observing Bilbo with a keen eye before he glanced sidelong at Thorin. “If it is tradition, Bilbo, I am sure we can see to it that it is done.”

“No no,” Bilbo said, waving him off. “It’s nothing, really. A silly tradition-”

“Now, lad,” Gerontius interrupted, frowning. “It’s hardly silly at all, we’ve been exchanging crowns for an Age.” He turned to Thorin, who was peering between them, his brow knitted. “Flower crowns are made by the couple and gifted to each other shortly before the ceremony. You choose flowers for your intended as vows of a sort, promises and endearments, what have you. They are pressed and preserved after the ceremony so that the couple can keep them until the end of their days.”

Bilbo was trying not to blush, but considering how hot his cheeks felt, he was sure he was failing. Grandfather made it sound far more, well, traditional and of great import than he had ever looked at it. Then again, he had never wanted to get married after he’d found out he was being forced to, so he had scoffed and scorned at most weddings he was invited to. He regretted that now, childlike as it was, and downright rude to the couple on their special day.

Thorin looked to Balin and gave a significant nod. He raised his hand as Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, and settled his piercing eyes upon him. “Tradition is important in dwarven culture, Master Baggins. I will honor yours. I would be glad to craft you a flower crown,” he said, his tone low. He smiled crookedly after a beat. “And it will be lighter than the crown you will wear in other formal settings.”

Balin took up an inkwell and quill from the table before him and jotted a note down on the parchment and Bilbo let out a soft sigh, resigning himself to the matter, even if he dreaded having to make a flower crown for Thorin.

Grandfather bobbed his head again and hummed in approval next to him.

And so the evening went.

Planning a royal wedding was a precarious business Bilbo wasn’t particularly prepared for. Balin briefly discussed what he could expect as far as dwarven traditions went, and mentioned that he would learn more in his etiquette lessons. It didn’t seem overly complicated but he was going to have to recite a few verses of Khuzdul vows and already began to sweat at the prospect of doing so in front of hundreds of people. He was confident in his Sindarin, but it was a musical language and much better suited for his softer voice than the guttural nature of Khuzdul.

Thorin sounded rather nice when speaking in his mother language.

Bilbo had to shake himself out of that thought and try not to blush when he had to ask Balin to repeat his thoughts on where the reception was to take place.

There was a banquet hall that Thorin suggested, as it was large, but not large enough to need to invite more partygoers than necessary. Anyone that Bilbo wished to invite was welcome, and Thorin’s council, as well as their family members would be there, and delegates from other dwarven kingdoms. Since the plans were being pushed through, it seemed it would be a winter wedding, and for that reason, many other dwarf clans would not be present. Bilbo wondered why Thorin seemed so pleased about that but suspected it was mostly political.

As far as the actual reception went, there was to be bountiful buffets and endless music. Grandfather had butted in there, suggesting Shire music as well (“The best for any party you know,” he had informed Thorin) and both Balin and the king easily acquiesced to it. They seemed curious about songs from the Shire and Thorin vowed to hire hobbit musicians once Bilbo had peeped that he quite enjoyed music. He hadn’t admitted to writing his own songs, of course, as he would be a cold, dead hobbit before he allowed Thorin to rope him into singing.

Food was to be handled by the royal kitchens, but Balin inquired after any traditional hobbit fare, to which Bilbo and Gerontius had to describe a wedding cake. Dwarves also had cakes, though not numerously tiered or extravagantly large like a traditional cake; their wedding tradition was a boar slow-roasted overnight. Bilbo had no objections as to that, of course, but he did suspect he would still see a cake, if Thorin’s less-than-subtle muttering in Khuzdul to Balin was any indication.

He had already been warned by Kili, but he was beginning to suspect that Thorin was hardly ever subtle.

After their feast, there would be dancing, Thorin informed Bilbo with a solemn air. He tried not to show any outward emotion, but he must have failed, because Balin swore that he would learn dwarven dances in his etiquette lessons. He was promised that they were not difficult steps and was rather confident in his abilities to learn them, so his nervousness was somewhat abated. Thorin seemed pleased by his easy acceptance, though he did look mildly panicked when Grandfather inquired about hobbit dances.

Bilbo attempted to hedge around it but Balin insisted it would be a splendid idea for Thorin to learn a few traditional hobbit wedding dances since he was, in fact, marrying a hobbit, as well as to appease the hobbits that would be in attendance.

Thorin accepted it well enough but with the way he shifted restlessly, Bilbo wondered if dancing wasn’t one of his greater skills.

Balin warned Bilbo and Gerontius that drinking competitions and the occasional sparring match (a terrible combination, if you asked Bilbo) were known to break out at weddings and that, while he did not expect Thorin to approve of sword fighting, he should be prepared for certain things. It was somewhat terrifying to hear, but Bilbo hoped that the wedding of their king would inspire the people of Erebor to be on their best behavior.

When the stack of parchment dwindled down to just one remaining paper, and they were all rather exhausted, Balin looked between Thorin and Bilbo.

“Well now, we have most of it decided. The date needs to be chosen,” he said, plucking out a tattered calendar from his never-ending robes. “We can have the wedding in late November, though this gives little time for some of our kin to travel here and partake, considering the snow that will be falling. If we have the wedding in early December, Erebor will be outfitted for Yule preparations and will look the part. It will also give our kin an excuse to stay longer and relationships can be solidified.”

Thorin was silent for a moment, staring into the hearth and at the fire that was slowly dying. “Aye,” he finally murmured, inclining his head. “That would be an ideal time for it. What say you, Master Took, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo was a bit irked that his wedding was being planned according to politics before he reminded himself that he was marrying a king, and felt somewhat foolish for it.

“That, ah… that sounds good to me,” he said. “The weather will be a bit harsh, perhaps, and my kin will likely need to stay in Erebor until the following day to steer clear of the roads back. I fear for storms but I suppose we won’t know until the day arrives.”

“Your kin are welcome in the mountain if it is indeed storming,” Balin said with a smile. “But we will still ensure the roads are well monitored and escort your kin back if needed. Perhaps Mahal will look kindly on us that day and the sun will be shining.” He looked at his calendar and tapped it twice. “December 13th is the date that I have in mind. His Majesty has no significant events as of yet until the 16th. A few days respite after the wedding.”

Thorin nodded. “Very well,” he agreed, looking more tired than Bilbo had seen him. His eyes settled on Bilbo’s. “December 13th.”

Bilbo swallowed, feeling pinned by Thorin’s gaze. “Er, yes. I certainly don’t plan that far ahead. I think I can say that I’m free,” he managed, feeling an unnecessary amount of pride when Thorin smiled. “December 13th it is.”

“That’ll work just fine,” Grandfather agreed with pleasure.

“Then I shall have the invitations designed and readied within the fortnight,” Balin announced cheerfully, arranging the stack of parchment into a neater pile so he could stow it away in his robes. “I think that we are settled for the evening. It is rather late and His Majesty has an early start. A meeting before he can break his fast with you both.”

“Do not remind me,” Thorin said, still smiling. He stood, the rest of the occupants following his lead. “Forgive my late arrival, or we would have finished sooner. I will see you on the morrow when we break our fast. We will discuss then the arrangements to see you settled here, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo felt his heart take a dramatic leap in his chest. “Oh, right,” he mumbled, wringing his hands together. “I suppose we should plan that, shouldn’t we? Then I will see you in the morning, Your Majesty.”

Thorin nodded to each of them before he retrieved his fur cloak and crown, adorning himself with each, then leaving the room with a murmured goodbye. Balin showed them out of the room and down the hallway toward their own rooms, even if they both could have found their way by themselves. He wished them a good night and only Grandfather’s clear exhaustion stopped Bilbo from begging him to spend anymore time with him.

He laid awake for many hours that night.

——

Bilbo was woken by a servant, something that was still as unsettling as it had been the first time, before he bathed and dressed himself for the day. He was immeasurably tired but hoped he concealed that fact well enough when he met Grandfather in the main hall. Gerontius said nothing about the bags under his eyes, but he did give him a square clap on the shoulder before leading them to the dining hall.

When they opened the door, Bilbo was greeted to the sight of two very fine plates being tossed in the air, as well as boisterous laughter. He blinked between Fili and Kili, who were a little too wound up in his opinion, throwing plates and silverware between each other.

When they were noticed, the brothers hastily set the dinnerware back where it belonged, but grinned unabashedly.

“Good morning!” they chorused together, pulling out a chair each for Bilbo and Gerontius.

Bilbo was comfortable enough by now to give them a look of exasperation as he took his seat, squeaking when he was pushed in closer to the table. They took up their own chairs and beamed with youthful energy.

“How did the planning go? We haven’t seen Uncle yet,” Kili said excitedly. “We might have stayed, but he would’ve kicked us out if we had tried.”

“Aye! Balin said it would be boring for us, but we all know that isn’t true. Did you pick a date?” Fili asked, grinning.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Oh, well, yes, we did, in fact,” he answered, looking up as servants came in with a kettle of tea, fresh juice, and light-colored ales. He waited until they left before looking back at the brothers, an odd, fluttering sensation in his stomach as he said, “December 13th. Your uncle will have a few days off after that for, er, respite.”

“Good! At least you’ll have a few days together then,” Kili said, serving himself some orange juice. “December 13th. Erebor will be decorated for Yule by then. It’ll look great.”

“That was what Balin said,” Bilbo agreed, pouring a cup of tea for himself and his grandfather. “I’m worried about storms but I suppose once everyone is in the mountain, it’ll be alright.”

“It’s January that we worry most about storms. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Fili assured, smiling as he chose the ale. “Tell us more about the plans. Did Uncle warn you about the competitions?”

Bilbo groaned a little, and assured them that he had, before he began to tell them most of what had been discussed the night before. He felt it would have been better had they simply been there for the plans, but supposed he might have felt more nervous if they had. He explained hobbit wedding cakes, music, and mentioned that both Thorin and he were to have dancing lessons. He was taken aback when the brothers began to laugh to a rather worrying degree.

“Oh, Uncle’ll love that,” Fili snickered, nudging his elbow into his brother’s.

“Aye,” Kili said with a painfully wide grin. “He loves dancing.”

Bilbo nearly choked on his tea and coughed. “He does?” he asked incredulously. “I thought he seemed rather nervous when he agreed to learn a few hobbit dances.”

Fili rolled his eyes. “He was probably excited, he doesn’t know how to properly show that. He was a terrible dancer in his youth but Mum said it was because he was afraid to show how much he actually enjoyed it. Once he was forced to dance more at formal occasions, everyone saw how good he was at it. Mum always teased him about it,” he said, smiling a bit wistfully. “Whenever we have balls, he’s got an entire line of admirers that want to dance with him. Your wedding will be no different.”

A sudden, dreadful pit opened up in Bilbo’s stomach, and he frowned, unsure where it had come from. He shook himself and tried not to grimace.

“That’s lovely, then. I’m not so bad myself, so perhaps we’ll actually look like we know what we’re doing come that day. I suppose I should have expected him to be a good dancer. I wonder how he’ll fare with hobbit steps.”

“What do hobbit dances look like?” Kili asked, looking gleefully interested.

Grandfather chortled. “A great deal more energetic than dwarven numbers, I’m sure,” he answered with a grin of his own. “More jumping and clapping and stamping.”

They both looked entirely too happy about the news. “Oh, I can’t wait,” Fili said, looking at his brother with a near manic glint in his eye. “Uncle will be able to let loose with that fancy footwork of his. We should learn too, Kee, so we can keep up with all the hobbits that will be here. I’d rather not look like a fool.”

“Too late for that,” Kili chuckled, winking at Bilbo. “But I agree. We’ll sneak in on Uncle’s lessons and learn your dances, too. Fee is a dismal dancer but I’m rather light on my feet.” He snickered as Fili rolled his eyes good-naturedly at him.

The door opened and they fell silent as Thorin and Balin strode into the room, their expressions turning guileless. Thorin peered between them, looking rather suspicious, as Balin grinned and said their good mornings. They sat and shortly after their breakfast was brought in, consisting of porridge with honey and many fruits, as well as toast and mounds of scrambled eggs.

They ate, conversation light-hearted, mostly thanks to Fili, Kili, and Gerontius, who seemed to remember his youth in the presence of it. Bilbo found himself relaxing more with each cup of tea he had, listening to Balin regale them all with a few joy-filled tales of his own.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin said between stories, drawing his attention. “We must discuss when you are to move to the mountain before you leave today. We are ready for you already - the rooms you are in are to be yours. They were my grandmother’s.”

Bilbo was startled to hear it. He knew they were rather fanciful, but had assumed they were guest rooms, not a room royalty had once slept in. He felt his stomach churn; royalty would again be sleeping there. While he was glad he wasn’t expected to share rooms with Thorin, the idea that he would be moving to the mountain soon made him regret his third bowl of porridge.

“They’re lovely rooms,” he said, for the sake of politeness. “Thank you for them. I suppose I’ll need to be here to start my etiquette lessons. I’ll need to pack my smial and arrange for transportation of my belongings.”

“No need, laddie,” Balin broke in, waving his mug of ale. “We’ll have carriages sent down and you will have dwarven strength at your disposal. You need only tell us when you will be ready. I would like to have your first lesson at the turn of the week, if you are amenable.”

He was beginning to feel as if he hardly had any choice in the matter - rather like this whole venture - but nodded nevertheless. “I’ll need a little bit of time to go through and pack, but I’ll have it done as quickly as I can,” he said quietly, nursing his tea, the thought of leaving Bag End behind twisting his stomach into knots.

Grandfather patted his hand consolingly but he found he could hardly muster up a smile, let alone look anyone in the eye. It grew quiet at the table for a short while, only Fili and Kili muttering between themselves, laughing now and then.

“Uncle,” Kili cheered after a few moments, his tone decidedly innocent. “We heard that you’ll be learning a few hobbit dances soon.”

Thorin paused in his attempt to drink from his mug, looking between his nephews, gone rather pale. He inclined his head. “Aye,” he answered easily enough. “I will be honored to learn them.”

Fili grinned. “I’m sure you will,” he said slyly, looking between Thorin and Bilbo. The hobbit did not like that look but had a feeling it was rather commonplace between the brothers. “We were telling Bilbo all about how much you love dancing.”

Thorin choked on his drink of ale, and a few frothy bits of foam flecked into his beard before he hastily set his mug aside and wiped them away. Bilbo was surprised when he was not set aflame, considering how red he turned, glaring at his nephews, who were laughing behind their hands.

“I am a fair dancer,” he muttered after a moment. “It does not mean I love it. It is simply a duty.”

Even Bilbo doubted that, after what Fili and Kili had already said, and seeing how flushed Thorin’s ears were. He tried not to grin himself and hid it behind his cup of tea, taking a moment to compose himself. Taking satisfaction in Thorin’s discomfort was far more preferable than wallowing in his own.

“I’m not bad myself,” he said. “I won’t embarrass you, at any rate.”

“You couldn’t,” Thorin was quick to say, lifting his hand as if to rest it on Bilbo’s shoulder before he drew it away instead. “I will take care to learn your dances as well as I can. And I will be glad to help teach you my own.” He glanced sidelong at Balin. “If I have time and you do not find a different teacher. I learned from Balin.”

Balin waved his hand. “It _is_ my duty, I’m afraid. I taught most of the royal line,” he said with a fond smile. “If I am too busy to teach Master Baggins, I will summon you, Your Majesty.” He winked at Bilbo, which prompted him into his own blush.

Conversation lightened up again from there, but it was not long after that Thorin excused himself to begin his duties for the day. Bilbo found himself wondering when they would have time to sit and get to know each other - then he wondered why he wished for such a thing, when he would have rather not been in Erebor to begin with, but back home, with hobbits and where life was not complicated.

His duties weighed on him and he suspected that they always would, no matter what anyone said, but he found he was able to brave a smile for Fili and Kili. They chattered until the brothers reluctantly left for their own duties, and Bilbo and Grandfather decided to head back to the Shire. It was all to be done again in a few days - this time, he knew he would be busy beginning to pack his smial, and wondered if he would have time for a good cry somewhere during that.

They packed up their belongings and a guard escorted them through the mountain and to the stables. There they saddled up their ponies, bid Erebor goodbye, and left, finding the road south toward their own home.

It was a quiet, peaceful ride for the first few minutes.

“You seem to be doing better today, lad,” Grandfather spoke up from around his pipe, looking at his grandson. He still look concerned, however, and Bilbo had to suppress a sigh.

“Yes, well,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and fidgeting in his saddle. Myrtle gave a warning snort and he let his sigh free. “I’m alright, I suppose. This stay was better than our last, certainly.”

“But?” Grandfather prodded.

“But I’m still being forced into a marriage with a dwarf king and will have to live in his mountain with him,” Bilbo said, more grouchily than originally intended. Grandfather sent him a quelling look and he groaned. “You asked, and I’m simply speaking honestly! It’s all a bit much still. Thorin doesn’t seem to be the monster I originally assumed he must be, but I still don’t know him.”

“The lad seems rather unsure of himself around you,” Grandfather said with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye that Bilbo didn’t like. “Bit awkward, isn’t he?”

Bilbo snorted in surprised laughter, quite unable to help it. “Oh good, I’m not the only one to notice it, then,” he drawled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he might be nervous about all of this himself, which is rather odd, considering he’s the one who asked for it and he’s had all this time to prepare.”

“He _is_ nervous, my boy, he’s to be married! Makes anyone anxious,” Grandfather answered, blowing out a smoke ring. “And after how you two got off, I don’t blame him for being concerned about how you’re faring with all of this. A right better off than I was expecting, but I do understand your caution, Bilbo. But he is eager to see this done and to see it done properly! The attention he is paying to hobbit traditions has me pleasantly surprised. Thought they’d be a bit harder to convince.”

Bilbo thought his grandfather was pushing for too many hobbit traditions, but decided to keep his mouth shut on the matter; most of this was being done without his permission, so he decided to be a bit smarter about picking and choosing his battles. He’d likely have some of his own after the wedding business was finished.

“I think Balin has convinced the king to be open minded about it all,” he demurred, watching the goings-on of the road, and all the travelers on it.

“Oh, you think it’s Balin, do you?” Grandfather asked with a bit of a chortle. “I rather thought it was His Majesty’s own doing.”

Bilbo found himself blushing, and scowled at himself for doing so. “Well, we can’t know for certain,” he declared, not wishing to argue the point. The idea that Thorin was _eager_ for all of this was a bit too much for him right then. “I’m not looking forward to packing my smial,” he continued primly, and with a sniff.

“You’ll have plenty of help in that regard,” Gerontius said, waving his hand as if to dismiss his worry. “It’ll go by quick, lad. Don’t worry about packing too much; the king will send for your belongings and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to worry about leaving anything behind. Those rooms are plenty big enough to fit what you’d like, and it’ll be nice to have a taste of Bag End in Erebor.”

He found that his stomach protested his breakfast again at those words and frowned. He felt a bit ill at the idea of leaving it all behind and didn’t think that would stop anytime soon. How did others who were arranged to be married off manage to do so without breaking down, or at least losing the contents of their stomach on a daily basis?

Bilbo was rather unsettled to think that they might anyway.

It was with a heavy heart that he rode to the Shire, bid his grandfather goodbye, and went home, to spend his last remaining days in Bag End, while it _was_ still home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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